Graveyard Visitor
by ImagineThis22
Summary: Joan goes to pay her respects and meets a mysterious man. They find out they may have more in common than they think...question is...Who is he? I don't own anything within the story. I don't own Joan, Sherlock, or...the other guy. :) Read to find out who he is!
1. Chapter 1

Joan sucked in a deep, relaxing breath and pushed through the iron gates that guarded the tiny cemetery. She took vigilant steps on the path that cut the square cemetery into two, careful not to trip on the loose pebbles and trip on the uneven pavement. She came across a massive oak tree and stepped off the path to admire its beauty. She went around the trunk with her eyes closed, her fingertips grazing across the bark, creating a mental picture within her mind. If she felt it, smelled it, viewed it, relished it, she would remember it for a lifetime.

Funny, she didn't remember the beautiful tree from the last time she was here. It just shows how often she visits the one who had fallen victim to her worst mistake.

Joan's left knee contacted with something very hard and she winced, her eyes flickering open at the pain. Her eyes locked on the object and she smiled. It was a cement garden bench, the silver paint peeling due to weather conditions. It looked as though it hadn't been sat on in ages. Joan sighed and planted herself on it, gasping at the freezing cold. She shivered and dealt with it, frozen by the view and beauty of the nature surrounding the cemetery along the brick walls separating the cemetery from the busy New York hustle bustle.

The silence was calming, not eerie at all. Joan breathed in a deep breath of air and closed her eyes, tuning her ears to the chirping birds and fluttering of butterfly wings.

She stayed there for a few minutes before squinting out at the cemetery, darker now. The sun was falling and the cemetery was beginning to seem empty, no birds singing or bees buzzing. She leaned down and plucked a red rose from the earth, not holding it too tight so the thorns wouldn't pierce her skin. She took a whiff and smiled at it.

Joan stood, knowing she should be going –she had to face it eventually. She ventured deeper into the cemetery and located her patient's grave. She knelt down, not caring if the dirt stained her blue jeans and placed the rose at the foot of the gravestone.

Joan touched the cold, polished gravestone, her fingers brushing against the engraving of his name.

_Grant Nyaga. _

Joan reread the message and felt her eyes fill with tears.

_Grant Nyaga. A loving husband, a caring father, a reliable brother._

Joan felt the first tear spill over her eyelids, down her face. "A death that could've been avoided…"

Soon, her tears were dripping off her chin and soaking into the dirt beneath her.

"I'm sorry…I'm so sorry. You had a life…this shouldn't have happened. It's my fault…I'm so sorry." Joan sobbed, her hand resting on his engraved name. She ducked her head and kept apologizing, tears still streaming down her cheeks.

Joan kissed the gravestone softly. "I'm sorry, Grant. I should be the one in the ground…not you."

"Careful what you wish for." A voice, a British voice, spoke from behind her.

Joan turned in curiosity. She had thought she was alone.

A man, about 5'6'', was standing, hands in his coat pockets, on the pathway. "Sorry, love. I didn't mean to startle you."

Joan stood and wiped her tears quickly. "Don't you know to mind your _own_ damn business?" Joan strode towards the large oak, hoping to get whoever this man was off her trail.

The man walked behind her, easily keeping pace with her. "I just don't think you should wish death upon yourself. It's not going to bring whoever that was back. Trust me, I've been through this –actually, I'm still going through it."

Joan spun around, startling the British man. "Who the _Hell_ do you think you are telling me what I _should_ and _should not_ do?" Her sadness replaced with irritation.

"I'm not telling you what you should or should not do, love. I'm just saying, wishing it could be you in the ground won't help. Whoever that may be that you were visiting, they aren't coming back."

Joan's anger subsided and crossed her arms, rubbing her hands along her biceps, trying to create heat to keep warm. "Blunt. You remind me of my friend."

He smiled. "And you're angry comments remind me of mine."

She let out a soft laugh. "We have a lot in common, don't we?"

He chuckled. "It would seem so." He came closer and offered her a hand. "Walk with me?"

Joan looked into his grey eyes and searched for any danger. She looked down at his hand and placed her small, slender hand onto it.

"Don't you know not to wear heels on uneven ground? You'll hurt yourself." The mysterious man looked down at her six inch heels.

"Don't patronize me." She gave a smile, a tell-tale sign she was joking. "Besides, I need them. My friend is extremely taller than me and without these, I'd look like a hobbit."

"Well you are significantly taller than me now, so I'm feeling quite…hobbit-like, as you'd say." He laughed, catching her as she tripped on a loose pebble.

Joan regained her balance and they reached the iron gates leading out into the big city. "Thank you for walking me out."

He nodded and kissed her hand. "It was a pleasure…even if we didn't get off on the right terms at first."

Joan laughed. "I suppose I do owe you an apology for that."

He let her hand go and returned his hand to his pocket. "Skip the apology. You can just buy me a coffee."

Joan's eyebrows rose. "I see what you did there. Smooth move, sir."

The man offered her his arm. "So, coffee it is then?"

Joan took his arm, wrapping her arm around his bicep, and nodded. "Coffee sounds…nice."

They walked on, headed for a tiny coffee shop around the corner.

…

The British man returned to the table, balancing two cups of coffee in one hand and two croissants in the other. He set them down on the table, handing her a napkin from his pocket, and removed his coat.

Joan let her eyes travel over him. The jacket had made his look huskier than he actually was. He was a lean man, obviously in shape. His grey eyes were matched by his greying hair, which, in this case, made him look more sophisticated. He was about as tall as her –minus her heels, a nice change after being around Sherlock the whole time and feeling like a dwarf.

The man spoke, bringing her back from her observations. "I'm actually quite surprised you didn't run when you had the chance…I'm guessing it's not normal to go out after a cemetery visit here in New York."

"I don't think it's normal anywhere." She laughed. He laughed too, and Joan took a long look at his beautiful smile. She had to admit, he _was_ good looking.

They both took a sip of their coffee, enjoying each other's company.

A lady, obviously the manager of the little coffee shop, placed a lit candle in the middle of their table and winked at Joan. "First date?"

Joan almost choked on her coffee. She coughed and the lady smiled. "We aren't together…" Joan coughed out, embarrassed. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks and she felt her pulse rate increase.

The man laughed. "Thank you. We are quite fine now."

This seemed to please the manager and she disappeared into the back.

Joan felt the heat in her cheeks. She avoided looking at the man, embarrassed he would be uncomfortable and leave her.

The man cleared his throat. "Wow, I'm usually the one to say that."

Joan looked up at him. "What?"

His eyes went vacant, reliving a memory in his mind. "My friend…I'd always have to explain to everyone that we were not a couple. But, no. I was still classified as a 'confirmed bachelor'."

Joan laughed, not sure what a 'confirmed bachelor' was.

He smirked. "You don't know what I mean. I don't blame you. You're not familiar with the British term. Confirmed bachelor means that I am a gay man that will never commit to marriage."

Joan nodded, surprised. "Oh, so…your friend...and you…?"

He shook his head. "We were nothing but best friends, close friends. I assure you, I am straight."

"But that's not what everyone thought…"

"Precisely. Just because I worked closely with him and lived with him people began to talk. Can't two men be flat-mates and best friends without being called 'gay'?"

Joan nodded in understanding. "I know where you're coming from. I live with my…associate and we aren't in a relationship. He is pretty much my boss and mentor. I'm his _best friend_, not his _girlfriend_."

He smiled. "Finally, _someone _who understands."

Joan smiled back, thinking the same thing.

A few moments of silence went by before Joan laughed to herself.

He eyed her with a suspicious smile on his face. "What?"

"Oh, nothing…" Joan laughed.

He smiled and leaned in, searching her eyes for any clues as to what made her laugh out of nowhere. "Tell me."

"I was just thinking…I really don't know why I trusted you…I mean, you could be a serial killer for all I know." She laughed.

He looked into the glass window next to their table, analyzing his reflection. "Do I really look like a killer to you?" He asked, half-joking.

Joan spun her coffee cup. "I don't know…I'm just surprised. My 'mentor' told me to trust no one, but…I trusted you."

He smiled. "Then continue to trust me. I'm not a serial killer. I mean…I _have_ killed people, but they weren't nice people."

Joan's eyes went wide and she felt herself shift away from him.

He noticed her about to flee and quickly explained himself. "No, no. Not like that…I was in the army. I was a soldier…well, actually if you want to assign it a title, I was a war doctor. I cured the injured and many died on my watch…" He felt his left hand tremor, so he placed it on the table to stop it.

Joan nodded, feeling herself relax again. "I'm a doctor too…well, _was_ a doctor." She corrected herself quickly.

He cocked his head to the side. "You killed someone… That's who you were visiting in the cemetery, wasn't it?" He deduced.

Joan nodded. "I left medicine because I _never_ want that to happen again."

"I understand your reasoning."

"Well then, you'd be the first." Joan muttered, spinning her cup mindlessly.

He stopped the cup from spinning by putting his hand on its lid. "You don't have to have regret. It was a mistake, we're human…we make mistakes and learn from them too."

Joan sighed. "It sounds so easy when you say it."

He gave a weak smile. "I've had my fair share of mistakes…like letting my best friend commit suicide and doing absolutely nothing to stop him."

Joan gazed into his eyes. "Your friend…he died?"

The man retracted his hand, resting it on the table in front of him and nodded. "You never realize what you had till it's gone. He was my best friend…almost like a brother to me. And now he's gone…and he is never coming back."

Joan placed her hand on his and gave a comforting squeeze. "So that's who you were visiting in the cemetery?"

He let out a soft laugh. "No, actually. I just wanted a place to think, to clear my thoughts. Lately, I haven't been getting much sleep…I needed to get out, go somewhere. So I came here from London, hoping to get away from my problems. But…I've realized, I can't run from my problems, just face them." He looked up into her eyes. "This is really the only fun thing I've done in a long time, love."

"Joan. Call me Joan." She smiled, squeezing his hand one last time before letting it go.

"Joan. Very…beautiful, to put it lightly." He finished off his croissant and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "This has been a very enjoyable…outing, Miss Joan."

"Funny, I thought it was a date." Joan smirked.

"Date. Yes, a date. A very enjoyable…date, then." He checked his watch. "I really must be going, I've promised to call my land-lady, telling her how New York is."

Joan stayed seated. "And how _is_ New York?"

He stared into her deep brown eyes. "Beautiful."

Joan smiled sweetly. "Thanks for coffee, though I thought I was the one to pay."

He grinned. "You didn't actually think I'd make the lady pay on the first date, did you?"

"What about the second one?"

He laughed. "Bring your purse next time."

She giggled.

He began to take his leave when she stopped him.

Joan called out from her seat. "Wait! I never got your name."

He put on a smug grin. "Check your napkin."

She looked down and moved her half-eaten croissant out of the way. She picked up the napkin and noticed a name and a number sprawled out in cursive in the corner.

She read over the name and smiled. Her mystery man revealed.

_John W._

**_I AM PRETTY SURE THIS IS MY BEST FIC…BY FAR. IT WASN'T ENOUGH TO CALL IT A CROSS-OVER SO I KEPT IT AS AN ELEMENTARY FIC. I MAY POST IT AS BOTH THOUGH…  
FOR ALL THOSE WHO ARE FANS OF MARTIN FREEMAN (JOHN WATSON AND BILBO BAGGINS), I PUT SOME FUNNY CLUES LIKE: HIM CALLING HIMSELF HOBBIT-LIKE, DWARF REFERANCE, ARMY WAR DOCTOR, ETC. I HAVEN'T REALLY WATCHED ALL THAT MUCH OF BBC SHERLOCK, BUT I HOPE I WROTE JOHN IN CHARACTER. THIS WILL MAYBE BE A SMALL SERIES…OR JUST A ONE-SHOT. I REALLY DON'T KNOW YET. WHAT DO YOU THINK?_**

**_THANKS FOR READING AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED IT!_**

**_PLEASE FAVORITE, FOLLOW, AND REVIEW! IT WOULD MEAN A LOT TO ME! :) _**

**_THANKS AGAIN!_**


	2. Chapter 2

"You met a man, I see." Sherlock spoke as Joan stepped into the room, looking up from his experiment with acids for only a moment.

Joan rolled her eyes. "And I suppose you expect me to ask you how you know that?"

Sherlock grinned. "He's good-looking too, judging by your flushed cheeks, heightened pulse, and the fact you didn't shoot down the deduction."

Joan sighed in defeat. "Yes. I met a man."

Sherlock dropped his lab utensils and removed his safety goggles. "So, when do I get to meet him?"

"Uh, never…" Joan dropped her purse on the table and began to light the stove, placing a kettle onto the flame.

"Why not?" Sherlock pouted.

"Because you'd scare him away…"

"And how would I do that?" Sherlock furrowed his brow and watched her mouth drop.

"You're joking."

"I do not joke…I _would_ not joke. How would I scare him away?" Sherlock repeated.

"Because you're _you_." Joan flipped her hair and returned her attention to the kettle.

"You're going to see him again." Sherlock stated.

"Yes. That's the plan."

"What's his name?" Sherlock pried.

"None of your business." Joan poured the boiling water into a mug and emptied the packet of tea mix into it. She took a spoon and began to stir, sensing Sherlock's frustration filling the room.

"Please?" Sherlock put on a trying smile.

Joan took one look at him and laughed. "No. I won't let you look him up."

"Why not? What if he's a dangerous criminal?"

Joan shook her head, a smile on her lips, and took a cautious sip of her boiling hot tea.

Sherlock lit up. "What if he's married? Remember Aaron?"

"The green-card marriage guy?" Joan shook her head. "No. He's nothing like that."

"How do _you_ know?" He muttered.

Joan just shook her head, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

Sherlock teetered on the balls of his feet and studied her. "Tell me about him."

"No." Joan answered in a heartbeat.

Sherlock fought the urge to pace. "I only want what's best for you, Joan. Tell me about him and I can make a deduction that will tell us if he's right for you."

Joan laughed. "I am _not_ letting you in on my love life."

"When are you seeing him again?" Sherlock pressed on.

Joan eyed him. "I am _not_ going to tell you. I know what you're planning."

"I'm not planning anything." Sherlock smiled innocently.

Joan polished off her tea and placed her cup in the sink. "I _know_ you, Sherlock. You're _always_ planning something."

Sherlock chuckled. "My dear Watson, I would never ruin a relationship for you."

"You've ruined three already." She muttered. Joan walked up the stairs, trying to ignore Sherlock's presence behind her.

Sherlock stopped her at her door. "At least give me _one_ detail about him."

Joan sighed and turned to face him. "_No_." Joan shut the door and smiled to herself. This was one of the few times Sherlock had failed to get inside her head. She was definitely getting better at keeping her private life from him.

…

Joan stood outside the restaurant under the awning as the rain began to pour and flood the streets. She anxiously watched the cabs speed by, not slowing down the tiniest bit. She checked her phone again for the time.

Eight fifteen.

John had texted her earlier that morning telling her to meet him at Trell's Restaurant at exactly eight o'clock.

Joan had gotten there fifteen minutes early, hoping to find him there as well, but she had been waiting for half an hour now.

_Maybe he changed his mind…_

Joan sighed and checked her phone again, her excitement turning into despair.

It had been three days since their meeting in the graveyard and Joan found herself missing him. She had texted him, just once. The text had simply said, 'this is my number, text/call me anytime.' She hadn't felt this way about a man…_ever_. She had been too nervous to call him the day after their coffee date, thinking she'd seem desperate. She was about to call him earlier in the day, but was met with a text from him. Her heart had fluttered and she immediately had begun to plan her attire for the evening. After much deliberation, she had chosen a black, strapless dress. It accentuated her slim waist and slightly curvy hips, every girls dream figure. She topped the look off with black, six inch heels, diamonds encrusted in the needle-point heel. Her hair was done up, some strands falling to shape her face in the most appealing way possible. She had applied light makeup, eye shadow creating a smoky eye, and a clear lip-gloss to make her lips appear shiny and well, kissable.

She sighed as her eyes swept across the dark, empty street. She shivered and adjusted her small wristlet purse, moving it to the opposite wrist. She took one last, hopeful look at the street and frowned. No cabs in sight. Joan turned and walked into the restaurant. She had to make sure they didn't lose their reservation –as Trell's Restaurant was one of the more popular restaurants in New York.

"Do you have a reservation?" A man with a thick, unidentifiable accent asked, standing behind a large podium that was placed next to the entrance.

Joan took another look at the door behind her, wishing John would be there, his warm smile greeting her, but no. Just a regular, glass restaurant door, Joan's sad reflection staring back at her. Her attention snapped back to the man as he grunted.

"Reservation?" He repeated, clearly impatient.

"Um, yes. Is there a reservation for John…?" She trailed off, realizing she didn't know his last name. "Um…"

The man frowned. "I have four Johns on my list. You'll have to be more specific."

Joan got an idea. She pulled out her phone and found his contact. "Reservations require phone numbers, correct?"

The man nodded, the frown becoming deeper.

She smiled and began to read his number. "Is there a reservation matching the phone number…zero, seven, five, one, seven, eight, nine, zero, five, three, one?"

He scanned the reservation sheet and nodded. "Under Watson?"

Joan was confused. Watson? Did he just say Watson? "Um, yeah. Joan Watson…"

He nodded. "John." His accent twisted the word, making it sound different.

Joan nodded, thinking she had heard 'Joan'. "That's me."

He squinted at her and shrugged. He never understood why parents were naming girls after the weirdest things –a girl with a boy name? What's next? A baby named after a compass' direction? He chuckled to himself as he led her to the table by the window, a candle burning in the center of the table.

Joan removed her wristlet and placed it on the table. She smiled to herself.

_He put the reservation in my name…How sweet. He knew I'd get here before him…Ha…But, wait…He knew my last name! How?_

Joan thought about all the different ways he could've figured it out until one came to her.

_I work with Sherlock and he's pretty well known –for the attitude, of course. Of course he knows who I am…I work with the 'famous' Sherlock Holmes!_

Unbeknownst to Joan, John rushed into the restaurant and approached the podium. "Reservation for John Watson?"

The man eyed him and nodded. "Your lady friend is here…she has been for a half an hour now…"

John sighed and followed him to the table. When he caught sight of Joan, his heart almost stopped. She looked drop-dead gorgeous! Was this the same woman he had met three days ago? Then she had been extremely beautiful, but now…she was _sexy_.

"Joan! I'm so sorry I'm late. The bloody cabbie wouldn't drive any faster and then the sodding git got us lost."

"Sodding git? More British terms?" Joan laughed.

He chuckled and peeled off his wet coat, handing it to the host who then hung it in the coat room. "Again, I'm sorry. I should've called…"

Joan placed a hand on his and smiled. "It's fine, John. Really."

He smiled and flipped his hand over beneath her hand, her hand coming to rest in his palm. He held it and sighed. "I still feel bloody awful about it though."

"Well, we'll just have to figure out some way for you to make it up to me, then." Joan retracted her hand and winked, grabbing a menu and hiding her blush behind it.

John grinned and followed her movement, grabbing a menu and holding it in front of his face. He pulled out three mints from his pocket-tin and thrust them in his mouth. Whatever might happen tonight, might as well have good-smelling, minty breath.

A man came over to the table and stood, staring at them.

John set his menu down and looked up at him. "We may need a few more moments for our order…"

"Get up. _Now_." The man growled.

Joan looked up and felt the blood drain from her face. "What?"

He glanced between the both of them. "I said, _get_ up. Both of you, _now_." He pointed a gun at John under the table.

John slowly slid his hand in his pocket, feeling around for his handgun he always kept with him. His hand closed around the cool metallic barrel and he was about to clock the man in the head, but Joan beat him to it.

Joan stood quickly and pepper-sprayed him in the eyes and mouth.

The man dropped to his knees and John took that as a chance to hit him with the gun. He grabbed for Joan's hand as the man dropped to the ground, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.

"Come on!" He yanked Joan away from the table and pulled her to the back of the restaurant. He ignored the complaints and protests from the workers, pulling her to the back door.

Joan tripped –not surprising seeing as she was in six inch heels- and fell to the ground.

John stopped and helped her up. "What is it with you and heels?" He half-joked, helping her up as she pulled her heels off.

Joan chucked them to the side and they began to run again.

"We need to get off the main street." John spoke, nearly breathless, as they entered the alley behind the restaurant.

"I know the way, follow me." Joan took off sprinting and reached for his hand again. "Take my hand!"

John tripped as a memory came flooding back to him.

_John is pushed up against a police car, handcuffs clicking around his wrists. _

_Sherlock looks over at him and smiles. "Joining me?"_

_John winces from the metal being tightened and grunts. "Yeah. Apparently it's against the law to chin the chief superintendent."_

_"Hmm. Bit awkward, this."_

_"No one to bail us." John sighs. _

_"I was thinking more of our imminent and daring escape." Sherlock hits a button and feedback deafens the police officers handcuffing them. He takes a gun from an officer's holster and points it at them. _

_"Ladies and gentlemen, will you all please get on your knees?" Sherlock asks, politely. Ironic really, seeing as the situation they're in. He fires the gun into the air as nobody moves. _

_"Now would be good!" He says, irritation creeping into his tone._

_"Do as he says!" Lestrade yells to the other officers. _

_"J-just so you're aware, the gun is his idea. I'm just, uh, you know..." John stutters. _

_"My hostage!" Sherlock finishes for him. _

_"Hostage, yes, that works. That works." John backs up, still handcuffed to Sherlock. "So what now?" He whispers to Sherlock._

_"Doing what Moriarty wants; becoming a fugitive. Run." Sherlock demands and they take off sprinting, the handcuffs slicing their wrists. Sherlock thinks quickly and yells to him, "Take my hand!"_

John wakes up to screaming and yelling.

"John! John! Help me!" Joan is screaming for him from somewhere far away.

John gets up from the ground and shakes off the ache in his head. He must've fallen and smacked his head on the pavement, resulting in a mild concussion. He looks around and sees three men pulling Joan away from him, headed for a black Cadillac parked on the street. He sprints toward them and swings his fist. It connects with one of the men's jaw and he falls to the ground.

The man on the ground quickly regains his footing and knocks John to the ground.

His head hits and he's out like a light.

"John!" Joan screams before being stuffed into the back of the awaiting getaway car.

The door shuts as the attacker's board the car and they step on it.

The car disappears down the dark, New York street, Joan being restrained in the backseat.

**_And before people start telling me the phone number I used isn't correct, I'd like to point out that I did, in fact, get it from the actual show. The pilot, A Study in Pink, to be exact. When John is calling the cabbie, it shows his number on the cabbies –the pink lady's phone. THANKS FOR READING AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED. THERE WILL BE A THIRD CHAPTER…MAYBE EVEN A FOURTH…_**

**_PLEASE FAV/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_I'd like to dedicate this chapter to marshmallowdeviant and kandikisses19. Marshmallowdeviant encouraged me to write –even sending good vibes my way- and this chapter would've never ever been finished if it weren't for her :D And I'd also like to thank KandiKisses19 for even reading this because I know she has never seen anything regarding Sherlock or Elementary, so the fact that she is even reading this story is amazing. Maybe you viewers could send her a message and force her to watch an episode or two. *Wink* *Wink*_**

**_And thanks to everyone who reads this story (or any of my stories) because the fact that I have fans keeps me going and I enjoy writing for the lot of ya! :D_**

_"I'm a fake." Sherlock's voice wavers with emotions he had long suppressed. _

_"Sherlock..." John watches his flat-mate –his friend- on top of St. Bart's Hospital, his feet inches from the ledge. _

_Sherlock cuts him off and continues his emotional goodbye. "The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade, I want you to tell Mrs. Hudson and Molly, in fact tell anyone who will listen to you... that I created Moriarty for my own purposes." _

_John has heard enough. He knows Sherlock, and this isn't him. Something is definitely wrong. "Ok, shut up, Sherlock. Shut up. The first time we met - the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?" He thinks back to when Sherlock first deduced every single detail about his sister –at first thinking Harry was a brother, but other than that, spot on- and just how amazing it truly was._

_"Nobody could be that clever." Sherlock lets out a sad, breathy laugh._

_"You could." John reassures him. He has the awful feeling in his gut that something bad is about to happen._

_There is a pause, the tension clearly felt through the receiver of John Watson's phone. _

_Suddenly, Sherlock speaks. "This phone call, it's... it's my note. That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note..." He chokes back a sob, his throat tightening and it becomes harder to push the words out through his mouth. _

_"Leave a note when?" John feels the sinking feeling return, full force, and his chest tightens. He knows the answer, but he doesn't want to believe it._

_Sherlock takes a deep breath and gazes at his best friend, still standing in the spot Sherlock had told him to stay, watching the 'famous' Sherlock about to do something everyone knew was inevitable. "Good-bye, John..." He spreads his arms out to his sides and plummets, almost gracefully, to the ground. He hits and John goes numb._

_His best friend, Sherlock Holmes, is dead._

John started to become aware of the cold cement beneath his limp frame, people standing over him and paramedics checking his vitals.

"Joan…" He groans as he tries to move, pain shooting through his muscles and in his brain.

"Stay still, sir. We don't know how much damage is done to your body and moving will just make it worse." A high-pitched, female voice echoes above him.

He looks up at her and frowns. "I'm- I'm a doctor…I'm fine…" He gets to his knees, pausing to ease the pain, and continues to get to his feet. "Where did it go?"

The woman is staring at him now, "Where did what go?"

"The- the car…a black Cadillac…" John stutters, speech becoming difficult due to the concussion.

The woman nods and approaches him. "We need to get you to the hospital, sir." She puts a hand on his shoulder and motions for a stretcher to be brought over.

He shrugs her hand off and stumbles backwards. "You think it's the concussion…No, they took her…They took Joan."

"Who is Joan?" The woman is pretending to listen to him, thinking his outburst is just a cause of the concussion.

John looks around at his surroundings, ignoring her question, and feels his knees buckle. "Joan…" He drops to the ground and once again, succumbs to sleep.

…

Joan fought the men as they dragged her into an abandoned power complex, roughly pushing her forward through the dimly lit hallways.

"Let me go, now!" She growled, attempting to sound threatening, but her nervousness pokes through and makes it sound pathetic.

They laughed and positioned her in front of a large pipe extending from the ceiling to the floor. They threw her down –not respecting that she was wearing a dress that barely covered her thighs- and crudely tied her hands behind her back.

"Should we call the boss now?" The shorter of the two men asked.

"No, you idiot. We have to confirm that we have the right one." The other man snapped, his voice echoing through the abandoned space.

Joan noted that they were both British, most likely more of Moriarty's contacts.

Footsteps sounded behind Joan and she craned her neck to see who they belonged to.

A very husky man took one look at the two lackey's and then glared at Joan. "What the Hell is _this_?" He pointed to the woman tied up on the ground.

"The target, sir." The shorter man squeaked, clearly terrified of the husky man.

He glared at the men. "You mean to tell me that this is John Watson?" He growled, staring at them with pure ferocity.

"Yes, the host confirmed it so." The taller man piped up, confident that he had a source confirming their target.

"You _idiots_! John Watson is a _man_! Not a dumb bitch!" He screamed, taking hostile steps toward them and clocking the taller man with a gun he had been concealing in his unusually large hand. The taller man regained his footing and ducked his head, the shorter man doing the same.

"John Watson? Who the Hell is John Watson? I'm Joan, Joan Watson." Joan cut in, completely confused with the statement.

"What are you? His wife? I wasn't informed the target was married." He pulled his phone out and dialed a number.

"He's not…Well, I don't think he is…but I'm not his wife, if that's what you're implying…" Joan sputtered, trying to comprehend the situation.

The main man ignored her and began a loud conversation with someone on his cell. "Mission failed. Incorrect target…I know…Already done." At this, the husky man pulled the trigger twice, one bullet for each man before him. The two men fell the ground, dead before they hit the cement floor. "Kindlin's been what? Arrested? How?...You'll fix it…okay…Seb out." He clicked end and smirked at Joan. "Moriarty is being friendly today, so good news, you're free to go."

Joan laughed. "_Moriarty_. I knew it! She even has a hold on her empire behind bars!"

The husky man furrowed his brow at her. "_She?_ What the Hell are you getting on about? Moriarty isn't a woman…"

Joan cocked her head to the side. "Where have you been? Of course Moriarty's a woman! Formally known as Irene Adler."

He became even more confused. "Irene Adler? The poor lackeys must've hit you on your noggin harder than I thought…Irene Adler isn't Moriarty –not even a full-blown criminal, to be honest. Just a con-woman with no power, whatsoever."

Joan was speechless –not for long though, as more footsteps echoed through the power complex.

"What have we got here?" A high-pitched, almost sing-song voice rang from behind her.

"An extremely confused bloke." The man spoke, still staring blankly at Joan.

"How so?" The mysterious man came into Joan's line of vision and smiled at her.

"She thought Irene Adler –_The_ Woman- was Moriarty."

The man knelt down in front of her restrained body and leaned in close to Joan's face. "Poor girl. Your brain is either mush, or you're just a moron –same difference."

Joan spat in his face. "I know what I'm talking about. You're the ones who are confused. Irene Adler is Moriarty. This _man_ you call 'Moriarty' is just an imposter."

The man laughed, not moving from where he was positioned in front of her. "Oh, no. Moriarty is definitely smarter than some small, unintelligent con-woman."

Joan analyzed his figure, trying to deduce who this man was –or is. Giving up, Joan glared at him and decided it would take less time just to ask. "Who _are_ you?"

He smiles and stands, never breaking eye contact with her. "Jim Moriarty." He pauses, taking in her confused expression. "Hi!"

…

John opened his eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning. When the room settled, he took in his surroundings. The room was white –almost heavenly white- and even in his groggy state, he could pin-point exactly where he was. The hospital.

Doctor's utensils scattered along the floor caught his attention. A proper doctor would never allow his utensils on the ground –dirty as it were. They would always be on a metal table, or in a nurse's hand. And they would never leave the tools unattended –for fear of being stolen or misused.

There had been a struggle –that he was _almost_ sure of…but between whom did the struggle ensue?

"Nurse?" He called voice raspy from the dry air, the panic clear in his voice. "Nurse?" He repeated, more urgently, when no one answered his call with a reply or appearance. John swung his legs over the side, his hands immediately going behind him to cover up the slit in the back of the hospital gown. He felt for it and that's when it registered to him. He was still in his date clothing…

_That's against the code…_what_ is going on here?_

John slid out of the bed and slipped into the hallway, looking both ways for nurses. The hall was empty, no nurses in sight…actually, _nobody_ in sight. The hall was void of any kind of life.

John began to walk down the hall, the small heels of his dress shoes echoing loudly. He glanced into each hospital room and found them empty.

Commotion from the room at the end of the hall caught his attention.

John slowly approached it and placed his hand against the intentionally fogged look-in window. He pushed slowly, the door swinging open as if he had shoved it open. The sight he was met with was one to render him motionless.

A tall man with dark curly hair was bleeding profusely on the hospital bed, his blood gushing from his head and staining the pillow a dark scarlet. Nurses swarmed over him, checking vitals, doing anything they could to save him from the inevitable. They all stopped as a high pitched, never-ending beep filled the room.

The man…was dead.

"Sherlock!" John shot up suddenly, screaming the consultants name into the hospital room. John scanned the room and felt his heart pounding in his chest.

Joan shook herself from sleep and was at his side in an instant. "John? John, are you okay?"

John's glazed eyes swept the room a final time until his eyes fell upon the familiar face. His hand reached up slowly and his fingers grazed across her cheek. "Joan?" He croaked.

Joan covered his hand with hers and kept his hand in place. "Yes, it's me…I'm fine."

He continued to search her face and his eyes traveled to her cheek. A bright red mark –about to turn into a bruise- was present. His face twisted in anger. "They hurt you."

Joan nodded. "They hit me…but I'm fine, John, really. It's just a bruise. Nothing that won't heal." She smiled weakly.

"I should've been there…I should've saved you." John's hand tensed on her face.

Joan removed his hand from her face and kept her hand placed over his. She put her other hand on the other side of his and held it firmly. "It's okay, John. They hurt you…there was nothing you could do to stop them-"

"I shouldn't have let my guard down…How could I be so stupid? Stupid, stupid, stupid!" John clenched his free hand.

Joan sighed. "No, you're not stupid. You're brave. You tried to help me, John. Even when you had a concussion."

John winced as he felt the pain throb through his skull.

Joan could sense that he was in pain. Her hand rested on his cheek and she forced him to look into her eyes. "John, do not blame yourself for this. There was nothing you could've done to prevent this…"

John's eyes welled up –kind-of out of character for the ex-soldier. His features hardened as he looked at the mark again. "Who?"

Joan's hand subconsciously traveled to the red mark on her cheek. "I was hoping _you_ could tell _me_. They actually had you as the intended target, but I guess we're more alike than we originally thought…Mr. Watson."

John's eyebrows quirked up. "What do you mean?"

Joan sighed, putting his question off for later. "Well, the man…the one who attacked me…he actually called you a different name. He told me you'd know exactly who he was if I said the pet-name."

John could feel the familiar sinking feeling. "Say it."

"Johnny boy…"

John had to stop himself from getting up and slamming his fist into a wall. "Moriarty…"

Joan looked taken aback. "John…He's _not_ Moriarty…"

John's eyes shot up to hers. "What?"

"Moriarty's in jail. I put her there."

"Her?"

"Yes, her. Moriarty is not this '_Jim_' guy…Moriarty goes by only one alias –that I know of- and that's Irene Adler."

"Irene Adler? What kind-of nonsense are you spluttering?" John snapped, a little more aggressive than he meant to be.

Joan furrowed her brow. "John, I could ask you the same thing…"

"Irene Adler is dead. She was beheaded by a terrorist cell…"

"No, John. She's in jail. Here, in New York." Joan remained calm, even if this was an upsetting conversation.

John took a deep breath. "I don't understand."

"Me either. That is pretty much my whole conversation with the Jim Moriarty guy in a nutshell."

John pushed away another saddening memory with Sherlock –the nutshell comment reminding of him of the case with Irene Adler- and he decided to take a moment to think. "How did you get away? I know Jim and he would never let you go…"

"I told you. You were the target instead. But, John…there is one more thing…"

John didn't seem to hear her. "What could he be playing at? How did he find me? How is he even alive!?"

Joan took his hand in hers. "John." She said more forcefully.

He looked to her, his full attention now on her.

"Remember when I said we have more in common than we originally thought?"

He nodded.

"Well, then…Allow me to introduce myself, John Watson. My name is Joan." She paused. "Joan _Watson_."

**_Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed. Probably only two chapters left! _**

**_PLEASE FAV/FOLLOW/REVIEW!_**


	4. Chapter 4

An evil smirk pulled at Jim Moriarty's features, causing him to mutter a brief 'hmph' somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

"Sir?" Sebastian Moran, Moriarty's right hand man, glanced over at his boss.

Jim's smirk grew as an idea formed in his head. "Seb, I need you to run an errand for me." A spark of ferocity ignited in his black eyes, striking fear into Sebastian's soul –if he even had one…

"Yes, sir. What kind of errand?" Moran stood from his chair and began to suit up in his stealth gear, making sure all his weapons were fully-loaded with ammo. He slung the assault rifle behind his back and placed his loaded .32 caliber pistol in its holster around his waist.

"A pick-up." Moriarty grinned sadistically.

"Location?"

"Sing Sing Prison." Moriarty tossed a folder over to his novice and waited for the man to study it.

Moran scanned the folder full of information and photos about a certain prisoner. "My pick-up is a woman?" He asked skeptically. Moran squinted at the photo of the blonde with confusion. The woman looked as though she were a nobody, just a housewife that snapped. What could Moriarty want with her?

Moriarty could sense Moran's skepticism from across the room. "Her name is Irene Adler. She was the one the female form of John spoke of. She said that this _woman_ was Moriarty."

"She sure doesn't look it." Moran's gaze traveled down to the blonde's convictions. "A murder charge…actually, multiple murder charges…" Moran turned the page and then another, then another. "This woman has a record three inches thick!"

"Precisely why I need you to obtain her for me." Moriarty's murderous smirk returned, the ferocious spark intensifying. "With her by my side, we could take over this whole state, maybe even the whole damned country."

"What about me?" Moran knew immediately that he shouldn't have asked that.

Moriarty glared at him. "If you bring her here, maybe, _just maybe_, I'll let you keep your job." He smiled at Moran's fear. "But if you fail me…"

Moran gulped and nodded. "I will not fail you, sir. Consider the task done." With that, he strode out of the room, leaving a murderous Moriarty behind.

Moriarty stared after his pet. "Do not fail me, Seb, it would not be wise."

…

"What did you just say?"

"My name is Joan _Watson_, just like you're John _Watson_." Joan explained.

John grasped for rationalities to explain their shared surname. "Well, that's not uncommon…we could share relatives…"

"Look at me; do you really think we share any family, whatsoever?" Joan motioned to her skin color.

John's mouth opened and shut a few times before producing another theory. "It –um…it –we could, um, it could, uh, just be a coincidence…I mean, I know a couple people with no relation and they share a last name too…" John stumbled with his words. "Just a coincidence, is all."

Joan was about to reply before Sherlock barged into the room and headed towards her form, still perched on the edge of John's hospital bed.

"Joan," He put his hand on her shoulder and checked her limbs for injuries, "I heard you were attacked. Are you alright?"

"It's okay…I'm fine, it's all fine." Joan smiled, her attention on Sherlock for the moment.

John's brain exploded with another painful memory of life in London with his best friend. His hands found his skull and pressed inward, trying to relieve the sharp pain. A scream ripped from his throat as the memory replayed itself.

_The duo is positioned in a table by the window, watching for their suspect in the pink lady's murder. _

_The manager comes over to the table. "Sherlock," He greets, "whatever you want, free. On the house, for you and your date." He smiles knowingly at the two men._

_Sherlock speaks to John. "You ought to eat."_

_John does a double take. "I'm not his date."_

_The manager ignores John's remark. "This man got me off a murder charge." He smiles at Sherlock. _

_Sherlock nods toward the street. "Anything happening opposite?"_

_John looks up at the manager and hears him say "Nothing." The manager speaks to John. "But if not for this man, I'd had gone to prison."_

_"You did go to prison." Sherlock corrects him._

_The manager disregards his comment and looks back at John. "I'll get a candle for the table, it's more romantic. _

_"I'm not his date!" He repeats._

_Sherlock slaps the menu down on the other side of the table. "You may as well eat. We might have a long wait."_

_The manager sets the candle down and John rolls his eyes. "Thanks." He mutters._

_He looks at his menu for a few moments before taking a sideways glance at the detective. He gives up on eating and decides to make it his goal to learn something about this strange man who he is about to have a flat-share with. _

_"People don't have arch-enemies…" He starts._

_Sherlock turns from staring out the window and furrows his brow. "I'm sorry?" _

_"In real life," John continues, "there are no arch-enemies in real life. It doesn't happen."_

_Sherlock returns to staring out the window. "Doesn't it?" He pauses. "Sounds a bit dull."_

_John watches him. "So, who did I meet?"_

_Sherlock doesn't answer, instead he asks another question, one to make John think. "Then what do real people have in their real lives?"_

_John thinks. "Friends." He nods to himself. "People they know, people they like, people they don't like… He continues, tearing his gaze away and staring at the table, "Girlfriends, boyfriends." He says more quietly._

_Sherlock talks over him slightly. "Well, as I was saying, dull." He continues to watch for the suspect across the street._

_John continues prying information from this man. "You don't have a girlfriend then?"_

_"Girlfriend? No, not really my area." Sherlock answers._

_John nods and then it clicks. "Oh, right…Do you have a boyfriend?" _

_Sherlock whips his head around to stare at John. _

_"Which is fine, by the way-"_

_"I know its fine." Sherlock cuts him off, staring him down._

_John smiles, trying to make the situation less uncomfortable. "So you've got a boyfriend."_

_"No." Sherlock remarks, not missing a beat. _

_"Right, okay." John laughs softly. "You're unattached…just like me…" He looks down. He sucks in a breath, "Fine." He clears his throat. "Good." _

_An uncomfortable silence settles between them as Sherlock turns his attention towards the window and John eats the appetizer left by one of the workers. Suddenly, it occurs to Sherlock why John was acting so strangely. He looks over at him and tries to find the right words to let him down easily. _

_"John, um…I think you should know I consider myself married to my work and though I'm flattered by your interest, I'm really not looking for anything." Sherlock gets cut off by John._

_John immediately corrects Sherlock's statement. "No, no, I'm not asking…_no. _I'm just saying, it's all fine…"_

"John!" Joan yelled, trying to make John wake up.

John opened his eyes once more and winced. "Holy fuck…My head hurts like Hell."

Joan smiled. "Thank God you're awake. Are you alright? What happened?"

John tries to think. "You said something…It triggered a memory…"

Joan's smile disappeared. "I'm sorry."

John quickly jumped up and grasped her hand. "No, no. I'm fine now, really. You didn't know it would happen, you couldn't have known."

Joan relaxed. "I think the concussion may be making whatever you keep experiencing worse."

"I had it before the concussion, though."

"Then maybe the death of your friend is what this is stemming from…" Joan stopped herself. "Oh, my…I'm sorry…I shouldn't have said anything about your friend."

"It's okay, it's okay." John soothed her worries.

A ringing interrupted the two Watson's conversation.

Sherlock picked up the phone and answered. "Yes, Captain?...What?!...Yes, we'll be right there." He hung up the phone and motioned for Joan to come with him. "That was Gregson. Moriarty is out of prison. Someone broke her out."

"What do you mean _'someone'_?" Joan asked.

"A man, already identified to be a part of the military judging by his sharp-shooting."

"Moriarty's minion." John mumbled.

"What?" Sherlock asked the man in the hospital bed.

"Jim Moriarty –_my_ Moriarty- has a minion that will do anything Moriarty asks of him." John answered.

"Oh…" Sherlock was stupefied. He was usually the one with all the answers. He directed his attention to Joan. "Looks like your boyfriend is smarter than I originally thought…He'll be useful to us." He motioned for John to get up.

John stumbled out of the bed, covering himself up. He gathered his clothes and tied the hospital gown behind him, covering his backside.

"Sherlock, he has a concussion. He has to stay hospitalized."

John felt his hand tighten into a fist. "What did you just call him?"

Sherlock realized that this man had no idea who he was. "Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective for the NYPD." He introduced, extending a hand toward Joan's date.

John felt his heart break. He swung his fist and it connected with 'Sherlock's' jaw. "Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?"

Sherlock regained his composure. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"John!" Joan screamed at him. "What did you do that for?"

"This is _sick_. Just plain _sick_. Who put you up to this? Anderson? Donovan? _Moriarty_?" He went in for another punch. This time it hit him in the chest. "If you think this is funny, you are absolutely repulsive! This is a _cruel_ joke!" He glared at Joan and felt his heart shatter even more. "You-you played me. I liked you…Hell, I may have even started to love you!" He took hostile steps towards her. "How could you? Playing with my emotions like that? I almost killed myself when Sherlock died! Is that what they want? Me to break even further and finally off myself? Huh? Is that what _you_ want?!"

Joan had started to cry. "John…I don't know what you're talking about…"

John blew up in her face. "Don't even! You have no right to even try to tell me you don't know what I'm talking about. You know damn well what I'm talking about! You're telling me this," He motioned to Sherlock, "_this_ is Sherlock Holmes?"

Joan nodded, tears leaving water-tracks down her cheeks. "John…"

"No! Sherlock is dead! I watched him die! He jumped off St. Bart's rooftop and hit the ground. I saw him die! I checked his pulse! He was dead…he was definitely dead." John felt himself crying. "I thought you cared about me, Joan."

John took off running, not caring where he would end up, or even if he'd make it there alive. Every doctor knew it was unwise to do strenuous activity with a concussion, but he didn't care. He just had to get out.

His chest was tight, both from the shortness of breath caused by running and his, now broken, heart beating extremely fast.

He made it to the streets, ignoring civilians disapproving stares at his indecency in public, and tried hailing a cab.

No cabs would stop so he gave up and began to sprint wherever his feet took him. As he ran, he felt numb. The cold nipped at his naked body beneath the gown and he started to shake uncontrollably. He stumbled along a long path and hit the ground. His knees hit the ground with a thud and he could feel the skin being peeled off. He cried out in pain and tried to regain his footing. He groped for something to help himself up with and his hand met cold metal. He pulled himself up and his grip tightened on the metal bars. He looked up at the metal bars and he jumped back. A familiar iron gate was in front of him…where had he seen this gate before? Then it came to him…it was the cemetery where he met Joan…

He jumped back and tripped over his feet, causing him to fall into the street. He laid there, on his back, letting the cold night air envelope him.

A sound caught his attention. He turned his head and blinked at the two lights headed for him at high-speed…

He identified it immediately.

A cab was headed straight toward him at fifty miles an hour…

John turned his head back up to the sky and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and waited for death.

**_THANKS FOR READING! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS CHAPTER…SO MUCH ANGST! HAHA._**

**_DON'T WORRY, IT'LL GET BETTER…OR WILL IT?_**

**_I'LL NEVER TELL ;D_**

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**_THANKS READERS! _**


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Very, very busy work schedule! ENJOY!**_

John heard the sharp squeal of overused brakes and the eardrum-shattering screech of a cab coming to a halt. A loud thud of a door being slammed shut –scratch that, two doors being slammed- echoed through his pounding head.

A woman knelt over him, placing a hand on his chest. "John?" Her voice sounded far away. "John?" She repeated, feeling his forehead. "Please wake up, John. Please…"

John tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn't open. He was numb, no feeling anywhere, and his eyes were just so heavy…

"I'll call Gregson to inform him of our intended late arrival…" A velvety accented tone whispered softly, laced with annoyance.

"Sherlock! Do something to help instead of calling Gregson –who, by the way, can wait. Call an ambulance! John is hurt." Her voice went weak as she ran a thumb across his cheekbone. "That's more important than a stupid case."

"_Stupid_ case? Who are you and what have you done with my Watson?" Sherlock blinked.

John's lips cracked into a smile. This man, this man she called 'Sherlock', was exactly like _his_ Sherlock…

"John needs to get to the hospital!"

"Why go to a hospital when you could fix him yourself? You were a doctor!" Sherlock huffed, clearly impatient.

John felt the familiar pain of an oncoming memory, but this time, it was dulled, not as forceful as the others. He let it play out in his mind, knowing that the more he fought it, the more it would hurt him mentally and physically.

_John and Sherlock exit the cab and walk into an alley. Sherlock rips his scarf off and circles around, turning to face John. _

_John looks at his surroundings with confusion. "Are we here?" _

_Sherlock shakes his head. "Two streets away, but this'll do."_

_John stares confusedly at the consulting detective before answering. "For what?"_

_Sherlock motions to his face, "Punch me in the face."_

_John seems surprised, almost like he didn't hear him right. "Punch you?"_

_"Yes, punch me. In the face. Didn't you hear me?" He motions toward his face again._

_"I always hear 'punch me in the face' when you're speaking, but it's usually subtext…" John retorts._

_Sherlock sighs impatiently, "Oh, for God sakes." He swings his arm out and it collides with John's jaw. _

_John drops to the ground as Sherlock shakes his jacket out and prepares for a strike. John regains his footing and punches Sherlock's jaw in one motion. He retreats and shakes his hand, the pain from striking Sherlock's incredible cheekbones disappearing with the shakes. He examines his hand from the blow, the knuckles red from the impact. _

_Sherlock gets back up, trying to hide the pain. "Thank you, that was…that was…" He is cut off when John attacks him, tackling him to the ground. _

_John puts him into a chokehold, his military tactics surfacing with his actions. _

_"Okay, I think we've done enough, John …" He chokes out._

_"You don't remember, Sherlock, I was a soldier…I killed people!" He growls._

_"You were a doctor!" Sherlock is surprised at the statement._

_"I had bad days!"_

Joan's hand traveled to his wrist and felt for his pulse. "His pulse…it's elevated…Too high to be healthy…"

"I'm-I'm fine…" John grumbled, slowly coming back to reality.

Joan leaned back to give him some room. "John, don't move. Sherlock is calling an ambulance."

John grumbled at her statement.

Joan felt his forehead. "Your fever is broken…that's good."

John opened his eyes and stared up at her, the sunset highlighting her goddess features. He had to fight the urge to forgive her right then and there, but there was still some hurt left in his heart, though. She was playing him, making him feel the hurt over losing his best friend all over again…Sherlock was dead, but…why did she say otherwise? There couldn't be two Sherlock's…could there?

"I'm fine, Joan. Just help me up." John felt two sets of hands seizing him and lifting him to his feet. He stared down at his hospital gown with disgust. "I don't suppose we can make a stop for clothing…"

Joan smiled softly. "Good thing I think ahead." Joan grasped clothes from the ground –having dropped them to tend to his injuries- and handed the pile over. "I had these ready for when you woke up in the hospital…but…" Joan cleared her throat uncomfortably, her smile disappearing. Joan didn't want to think about the huge fight they had had.

John thanked her and began to dress, not embarrassed at all. He had been in the army; he was used to this kind of thing. He had nothing to hide, he was in shape, athletic, he didn't care that Joan or her…friend…saw him nude. He pulled on his shirt, having buttoned his pants already. He looked down at his bare feet. "No shoes?"

Joan turned to look at him –having turned away when he was changing, embarrassed, but tempted to sneak a peek. "They're in the cab, come on. We need to get you back to the hospital."

John shook his head sternly. "No, I said it once and I'm going to say it again. I'm _fine_."

Sherlock smirked. "You've said it more than once, mate."

John shot him a glare, a pretty deadly one judging by the sudden fear in the man's eyes. "It's an _expression_."

Joan sighed, "John, you have just overexerted yourself, which, I may add, is ten times worse seeing as you have a bloody concussion!"

John chuckled hoarsely. "_Bloody_ concussion?"

"Dear lord, your British terms are rubbing off on me!" Joan faked a pout, a small, hopeful smile on her lips.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And mine haven't?"

"Well when he uses them, it's cuter." Joan winked at John, the small smile leveling to a full force grin.

John couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh. "As much as I love laughing at your adorableness, I can't…My head can't take it." He massaged his temples with his fingers.

"Advil?" Joan shook the small bottle she had retrieved from her purse.

John nodded urgently. "Oh God yes."

…

**_SING SING PRISON- 12 HOURS AGO…_**

Sebastian Moran, a.k.a. 'Seb', stepped into the small visiting room, signed in under the name 'Richard Brook'. The name had always been an alias for Moriarty, but for now, it was his. Hopefully no one in the prison was educated on the suicide of Sherlock Holmes and his alleged 'hiring' of Richard Brook, contracting him for the job of playing the role of Moriarty. If someone recognized the name and noticed Seb was not Richard, his job and his life were as good as gone. So far, nobody had even looked at him, much less recognize him. This didn't totally surprise him though, as not many Americans were informed of international matters such as suicides or murders…or murder_ers_.

He took a seat at the small table provided, the chair and the table itself bolted to the floor so that an angry prisoner couldn't use it as a weapon. That didn't mean the angry convict wouldn't use his or her hands though...or any other resources that were placed in the room. Moran could pinpoint each hazardous material that could either be used as a weapon or an attempt for an escape.

He had only counted seven before he was interrupted by a beautiful woman entering the room through a small door, accompanied by a tall, muscular man armed with an assortment of different weapons to subdue a rowdy inmate or, if needed, to make an easy kill.

The woman walked to the table slowly, studying the man before her. "Richard Brook. I don't know any 'Richard Brook', so you must be here to either request my services or offer your assistance for my release."

Seb looked at the warden behind her, not believing what she was saying in front of him. She could get them both killed!

Irene could sense his sudden tension. "Oh, please, he won't do anything. He knows what I'm capable of, don't you, _Harold_?" She smiled, imagining Harold's reaction behind her.

Harold stood at attention, ignoring her comment. He had to save his family, after all. Who knows what she would do to them if he reported her to his boss?

Seb eyed Harold, sensing his anxiety. "You have something on him?"

Irene's eyes sparkled. "I have something on everyone, even you…Sebastian Moran number two."

His eyebrow quirked up. "Number two?"

"Clearly you are out of the proverbial loop. I have heard of your little empire over in London, Hell, London is my home." She smirked, thinking of all the plans that had been meticulously premeditated and played out. Good times, good times.

"Clearly." The corner of his lip quirked up into a half-smile. "I've underestimated you, Miss Adler."

She smirked. "Everyone does." She paused. "On the subject of the two 'Sebastian Moran's', I had a pet of my own…a long time ago."

Seb felt his stomach drop. "Had?"

Irene smiled deviously. "He couldn't perform. He almost revealed my plans; he was just a pawn in my little game against the moronic Sherlock Holmes. He got in the way and everyone knows that you do _not_ get in my way."

Seb grinned, putting the topic of his suspected demise out of sight, out of mind. "Then you'll understand when I tell you someone has gotten in Jim Moriarty's way. So if you are even half the Moriarty that Jim is, you'll know just how bothersome this little obstacle is."

Irene nodded. "I understand and I'll help exterminate this little rat of a man."

"So you know the target?"

"Oh, I am quite familiar. His blog is rather _interesting_…I can see why the whole city of London and beyond suspected homosexuality towards his flat-mate." Irene laughed.

"So you'll help us get rid of him…but what will you require as your payment?"

"Your help with the termination of _my_ little pests."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do me a favor, Sebastian?"

"Yeah?"

Irene stood and moved toward the door, calling out over her shoulder. "Call me Moriarty."

…

**_PRESENT- SHERLOCK AND JOAN'S BROWNSTONE_**

Joan ushered John toward the couch and he gladly took a load off.

"Need anything while we wait for Gregson?" She asked softly, not knowing if the tension caused by their row in the hospital was still between them.

"I'd love a cuppa…maybe some biscuits if you've got'em." John smiled, assuring her that the tension was fully gone, just a deep conversation was in order to explain exactly what was going on. Two Watson's and now two Holmes's? It was just too strange to go without explanation.

"A cuppa…?" Joan stared blankly at him.

Sherlock placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly. "I got it, John." He squeezed her shoulder before he left to get John's request.

John laughed at Joan's blush, now spreading clear across her face. "Don't worry, Joan…just another British term."

"I could've figured it out…coffee?" She guessed.

John shook his head. "Tea."

Joan sighed. "Ah, well, maybe a London A to Z book is in order if I'm to be romantically involved with a Brit." She waited for his reaction.

John gleamed. "Maybe it is." He watched as Joan's expression went from nervous to relieved. John knew now that she had been telling the truth. Someone that nice couldn't be behind a plot to drive him into complete madness. Joan truly loved him, and he loved her too. "You know, I once solved a case using a book like that. Well,_ I_ didn't solve it, but Sherlock did…" His voice cracked, still not ready to speak his name. "I don't suppose you're interested…"

"Tell me the story, I'm totally interested! Besides, Gregson won't be here for another fifteen minutes, give or take a few for traffic." Joan took a seat beside him and listened to John explaining the Blind Banker case.

John retold the case, beginning to end, the only interruption being Sherlock handing John his tea and biscuits. John had paused to sip it every so often and bite off a small bit of biscuit, but managed to keep both Joan's and Sherlock's attention through the whole story.

"…so that's when Sherlock figured out the cipher could only be broken by a code. The book code, to be more specific. We used the London A to Z book, each pair of numbers representing a page and a word on that page. When he finally decoded the message, he came back to the flat ready to burst with the new information, but he found Sarah and I missing, kidnapped by the Black Lotus."

Joan cleared her throat. "Sarah?"

John swallowed thickly. "Old girlfriend…"

Joan's lips curled into an 'O' and she nodded.

Sherlock had to stifle pure laughter. "Anyway, continue Watson number two."

John glared. "Don't call me that…" He shook it off and continued with the conclusion of the story. "Long story short, Sherlock found us, saved Sarah from being shot with the Chinese contraption –with a little help from me, and that's it. We went back to normal life at the flat –or what we considered normal, anyway."

Joan smiled. "Your Sherlock sounded very clever."

"Brilliant." John corrected her.

"What?"

John put on his best Sherlock voice to imitate his friend in what he considered to be his response. "Clever? Sherlock Holmes is not clever. He is brilliant, and the sooner the criminal class realizes this, the sooner Londoners will sleep in peace."

This imitation caused Joan and Sherlock to burst into loud, noisy laughter. John soon joined in and the Brownstone was immediately immersed in laughter. So much noisy laughter in fact, that the trio almost was unaware that Gregson had made entrance to the Brownstone and was now requesting their presence.

Gregson did a double take, used to only seeing two figures in the Brownstone parlor. "Who's this?" He looked at John.

"John, John Wat-"

"Waterford, John Waterford." He cut Joan off and extended a hand toward the Captain.

Joan gave him a confused look that matched Sherlock's.

Sherlock was faster at catching on and he joined in on the act. "Yes…This is Dr. John Waterford. We went to Uni together…He's just as educated as Joan in the field of medicine and also skilled in the art of deduction, having been with a Holmes for years." Sherlock winked.

John had to admit, this Sherlock was just as clever –er, brilliant…

"Well, then come along. We need all the help we can get." Captain Gregson shook John's hand that had been extended and produced a file from his jacket. "If you know Sherlock, I'm guessing you know Irene Adler, a.k.a. Moriarty."

"So much so that it's almost like there are two different people…" John smiled.

Gregson nodded slowly, confused at the statement. "Well, then you'd know that she's positively the worst criminal mastermind out there."

"That could be argued, but sure…" John nodded.

"Well, that's why the NYPD is confused."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "How so?"

"This may sound crazy, and trust me, I know it will, but we've received info that there is another, more sinister game master this time…and he has Irene as his partner."

Joan's eyes went wide, knowing exactly what had happened…and knowing it was all her fault.

John understood also, but hid it to save his cover as just an old friend from Uni.

Sherlock was the only one that was confused and needed clarifying –for once. "Not following?"

Gregson sighed. "Like I said, it will sound crazy, but from what I've heard, it's almost like there is no longer one Moriarty, but two."

_**A/N: Thanks for reading, guys and girls! I hope you like the story so far... Probably only two or three chapters left! **_

_**Two Moriarty's AND they'll be working together...this is going to be messy! **_

_**Thanks, please Favorite, Follow, and Review! P.s. Reviewing makes me very happy and encourages me to write faster than I usually do!**___


	6. Chapter 6

**_SING SING PRISON- 6 HOURS AGO_**

Irene sat in her cell, the cuffs around her wrists feeling heavier with each passing minute.

"Warden?" Irene snapped, the impatience clear in her tone.

The warden stepped into her line of vision, his hand firmly grasping the gun in his holster. "Yes, Miss Adler?"

Irene looked at his nervousness, not amused. She rolled her eyes, "I need you to vacate the area."

He looked bemused. "I can't…I don't think I can do that, ma'am." He stumbled.

"This isn't a matter worth negotiating. I need to use the facilities and I prefer not to have an audience." She glared, trying to threaten him with her gaze.

He looked as though he were having a fight with his decisions. "I'm not supposed to –I can't leave you alone…" He tried to explain, his nervousness leveling.

Irene stood, approaching the metal cell bars. "If you know what's smart, I'd leave…right now."

"W-what…?" The terror returned to his voice, causing it to tremble.

A figure stepped out from the shadows behind the warden, a gun raised, ready to shoot him point-blank. "Open the cell."

The warden turned, his hand fumbling to release his gun from the belt around his waist.

Sebastian Moran (number two) pulled the trigger and watched the man slam back into the cell door, dead before he hit the ground.

A blood pool began to form around his torso, his white uniform blossoming red from the wound.

Irene stepped back, the less-than careful gunshot catching her by surprise. "What the hell, Seb? You could've shot me!"

"Do you want out or not?" Seb retrieved the keys and dangled them in front of her face.

"Out."

Seb unlocked the cell, worked her wrists free from the handcuffs, and led her out of the prison into an unmarked getaway car.

"I'm surprised we didn't get caught…" Sebastian put his gun back on safety and slipped it into his belt.

"I'm not. Americans are idiots. Their security is weak."

"Then how come you couldn't escape without help?"

Irene shot him a glare. "I could've gotten out on my own, but the reason I didn't was because I didn't need to at the time. Now that I've got a new goal, I needed to get out."

"You ready for this war?" Sebastian disregarded her statement.

Irene smiled mischievously, the evil spark returning to her vibrant green eyes. "I've _been_ ready."

…

"Two?" Joan gulped. "You mean…?"

Captain Gregson cocked an eyebrow. "Well, metaphorically speaking, it seems as though there are two, but in reality, there can't be. Irene has united with a just as cynical and sinister counterpart. We have no information regarding said counterpart, but we have men ready to infiltrate their hideout to learn more about him…on my command, of course."

Joan nodded weakly, the worst possibilities of Irene and Jim Moriarty joining together playing out in her thoughts, haunting them with realizations that together, they could be the most unstoppable pair of criminals in history. Two consulting criminal masterminds from two 'universes' coming together to form a partnership so great, it could take down anyone or anything in its way…this, _this _was _bad_. Joan knew that even with Gregson's team ready to kill in an instant, they wouldn't stand a chance. She knew Irene, and if Jim was anything like her, they'd be, not one or two, but _three_ steps ahead of their enemies –meaning, three steps ahead of John, Joan, Sherlock, _and_ the whole NYPD field team combined.

"Knowing Irene and how dangerous she can be, we are going to take extreme caution dealing with the situation…" Gregson reassured her.

"I want to take them down…I want to help." John piped up, his war-side peeking through in confidence.

Captain Gregson stared at John, confused. "Not to be rude, but this situation has to be dealt with such precision that we cannot allow amateurs to assist."

"Who says I'm an amateur? I've been in the Afghanistan war, I know the battlefield like the back of my hand." John smirked, his eyes gleaming with joy. He couldn't wait to experience danger, being the adrenaline junkie he was.

Captain Gregson smiled. "Afghanistan?"

"Yes, sir. Captain John Watson, ex-army doctor to the British Army, at your service." He saluted the Captain, receiving a firm salute in response.

"Well then, soldier. You are welcome to assist in the arrest of Irene Adler and her partner in crime." They ended the salute and shook hands.

"I look forward to taking them down and bringing their sorry arses to justice!" John grinned, longing for the weighted feel of a British Army Browning L9A1 in his calloused hands.

Captain Gregson nodded curtly, turning his attention to Sherlock. "I know she's a touchy subject, Holmes, but if you're up to it, we'd love to have your help. We already know she still loves you, so maybe we could use that against her somehow…"

"Of course, Captain. Happy to help." Sherlock pressed his lips into a fine line.

Joan eyed him suspiciously. "Are you sure you want to do this, Sherlock? We all know –well, almost all of us know what happened the last time we dealt with her…"

"I'd like to remind you that my overdose was part of the plan to trap her. It worked, I'm fine, and I remain drug and alcohol free, so no, this event to bring her to justice for the second time in a year will not cause me to relapse, Watson." He huffed.

Joan sighed. "Okay, if you say so." She turned toward Captain Gregson. "I guess that means I'm in, too."

Captain Gregson's smile faltered. "I don't know, Joan…This operation is very dangerous, I'd hate for anyone to get hurt…"

"I go where he goes, remember?" Joan reminded Gregson of Joan's pre-partner job of a sober companion, requiring her to stay by Sherlock's side. Sure, she hadn't been his sober companion for some time, but that didn't stop her from feeling the need to be by his side almost 24/7.

Captain Gregson glanced over at Sherlock.

"Hey, I can't tell her what to do, nobody can." Sherlock smirked. "If she wants to go, let her go. She's grasped the basics regarding self-defense and hand-to-hand combat if such actions are needed," Sherlock explained, "and might I remind you, she was the one who incapacitated Xande Diaz when he held her and Rhys hostage…at gunpoint."

John shot her a surprised glance.

"Angus helped…" She laughed softly.

"You…you took down an armed criminal...?" John was extremely caught off guard. Joan may seem like a woman that usually would want to wait on the side-lines, but apparently she was a fiery heroine with a sense for danger.

"After she and Rhys escaped their bonds…" Sherlock added.

John grinned. "Wow, amazing…just…wow." He was having trouble grasping for words to describe how impressed he was, "I would've never…I mean, look at you…Heels…Were you wearing heels at the time?"

"They _are_ my signature…" Joan felt her cheeks go red.

Captain Gregson cleared his throat to redirect their attention back to the matter on hand. "As impressive as Miss Watson's stunt was," He shot her a smile, "we still have to discuss how to invade, undetected, into their fortress."

"Co-op tactics, my favorite." John began to mentally map out different routines and routes, readying them so he could apply them to the floor plans of the fortress.

Joan gulped. This was happening…this was _really_ happening. She never signed up for any of this –sure, she had agreed to it not more than two minutes ago, but she had never known her life as a sober companion would lead to consulting with the world's greatest (apparently there had actually been another 'greatest') detective, and now this. A military co-op plan to invade a hideout for the most sinister pair in history. Joan was terrified; she could lose the people closest to her. Hell, these people had become her family –minus John, who had recently become her boyfriend- and she just couldn't stand to think of life without them. If one died midst the gunfire, she would never be able to live with herself. She had brought up the topic of Irene to this man named Jim and apparently he had taken her information to use against them. He had enlisted Irene's help –or vice versa, she wasn't quite sure- so if something happened to anyone, their blood would be on her hands.

A horrifying thought came to mind, making the colors in her face drain.

_If one of these important people in my life dies, their blood will be added to my already blood-soaked hands, _she thought to herself, her stomach churning. The blood of Grant, and now the blood of one of her family –or worse, John.

John could read Joan's worry as if it were written all over her face. He gripped her hand, his fingers interlocking with hers, despite their fight hours before. "We can do this." He whispered, forgetting the two other men in front of them. "We'll be fine."

Joan nodded, her confidence returning. "Let's kick some ass."

**_A/N: The much anticipated chapter (for me, anyway) is next! AHHHH! I cannot wait to write it! It will be gripping, devastating (for which side, I won't tell), and will have a huge twist! I hope you are just as excited! This chapter was kinda short, but trust me, the next will be longer…A LOT longer. :D_**

**_Please Favorite/Follow/Review! Trust me, I get so excited when you guys review! It makes me want to keep writing…and right now, I'm kinda struggling! I also have a really, really, REALLY sad announcement for you all in the last chapter of this story…Some of you already know, but for those who don't, you'll have to wait to find out._**

**_REVIEW!_**


	7. Chapter 7

_Scarlet red stains the ground, bodies begin to pile up, screaming, pained moans from near-lifeless men on the battlefield. Deafening firing from guns, canons firing, more pained screams. This is just a day in the life of a soldier. Add more pained expressions and emotional goodbyes to fallen comrades, and then you have a day in the life of a war doctor. _

_John runs from one body to the next, his heart beating in time with the shots being fired by the enemy. He leans over the next body and jumps back in surprise when he recognizes the face below him. _

_Anthony Serfer. Same rank and same title as John. He had been John's only go-to man in the army –well, him and Sebastian Moran. Just a young man, one who had his whole life ahead of him. Tony had been the bravest young man John had the pleasure in meeting. He would face life head-on, never give up or give in to irresistible temptation. _

_And now he was gone. Dead and lifeless, the once dark skinned man had a paler complexion due to loss of an extreme amount of blood. _

_John pushed all attachments aside and put his fingers on the man's neck –though he knew it was hopeless._

_His suspicions were confirmed when no pulse was found, just a cool touch to slimy, sweat-covered skin. _

_John stands, feeling his mind go cloudy._

_Another friend gone…How many would be gone before the godforsaken war was over? _

_Suddenly, a bullet whizzes past his ear, grazing the earlobe and making John jump to the side…into the pathway of another oncoming bullet. _

_The tearing of flesh and immediate flowing of blood out onto his uniform is enough to produce a guttural cry from John. He flies backwards and ducks, hitting the ground with a thud in order to get out of the way of more bullets. He feels his head cloud even more, a numbness overcoming his whole body. _

_He becomes slightly aware of hands probing his chest and shoulders, causing him to scream in pain. They lift him by his armpits and legs –not trying to be gentle at all. They set him down in a large tent, another team of medical individuals taking over immediately. They hand him a sheet to bite down on and sloppily fix stitch the wound in his shoulder closed –not having to remove a bullet seeing as it was a through and through shot. They bandage the wound and inform him that he will be sent home as soon as they can gain clearance for air-transportation out of there. _

_John rests his head back and mentally kicks himself for being so careless on the battlefield. Usually he had been so alert, aware of every bullet being fired and knowing how much time he had before an ambush was upon him. But now, as he lies on the crude bed, he can't help but cry. The whole reason he had gone to war was to prove himself, to prove that there was more to John Watson than just a jam-obsession and an alcoholic family. To who he was trying to prove was still unclear, but he had the tiny impression that the person he had been trying to prove his usefulness to was himself. _

_But now, he was going home. Shot and useless to the war. _

_He had failed not only his army-buddies, but himself as well. _

John moved across the asphalt toward the large building –the memory being pushed into the deep archives of his mind. Hearing the faint thudding of trailing officers behind him, he knew he had to focus. If he didn't, they would all surely die. Joan and Sherlock were by his sides, each equipped with two guns, one strapped around their ankles and one held firmly in their hands.

John had explained his tactics plenty of times to the small team of officers –Sherlock and Joan included- and now they were putting them into action.

He had been worried that Joan wouldn't understand the plan and that she would want to pull out of the mission, but once again, he had misjudged her. She had gotten it the first time he explained it, and then had proceeded to explain it to confused officers.

Now they were at the building, getting ready to infiltrate the pair of criminal mastermind's headquarters. This had been a long-time coming; he would finally get to have the pleasure of killing the man who had killed his best friend. Sweet, sweet revenge.

John knew they were foolish to hope that Irene/Moriarty and Jim wouldn't be expecting them, but he still found himself wishing and praying that they would at least have the upper hand on them via weaponry and team. Sure, it wasn't the weaponry or team that would make them victorious, but he hoped that it would give them some sort of advantage.

He silently backed into a wall and waited for Captain Gregson's men to surround the perimeter, pausing for Joan and Sherlock to slide in next to him, guns ready to fire. John gave the Captain a nod, a go-ahead for slipping in the door.

The door was unlocked –which should've been their first clue that something was wrong, but John moved ahead, powered by adrenaline.

He slipped in the door noiselessly and began to sneak against the walls, using them to navigate the maze that was the dark hallways. He held his gun tightly and pointed it in front of him, sweeping it across the hallway, wall to wall. He would click his tongue once to assure that it was clear –this alert being planned just in case the hallways were dark. He knew that that would be the only thing to alert them to a clear pathway, knowing that if he spoke the enemy would hear him –and not to mention, it was pitch black. They wouldn't see any sort of hand gesture in the black to guarantee them a safe path so he resorted to tongue clicking.

John turned a corner, silently and swiftly, and clicked his tongue when it appeared safe. He made entry to a huge room through a large doorway, the door hanging by its hinges. He slowly stepped further into the room, eying a suspicious glowing light in the middle. He looked back and could barely make out Joan and Sherlock's faces, both sets of eyes directed toward the strange white light.

Joan looked over at John and gave him a questioning look.

John shrugged and held up a hand, telling them to wait.

He approached the light, knowing that what he was doing was endangering the team, but his mind was too occupied with other thoughts. He cautiously stepped toward it and tried to make out what exactly it was, gripping his gun tighter just in case.

He tentatively reached out, his fingers grazing with the surprisingly cold metal that was glowing white.

All of a sudden, a blinding white light flood the room, causing all the officers –John included- to moan in pain by the sudden light. A pain shot through John's memories, the white light triggering another painful reminiscence –stress on _painful_.

_John is searching the Baskerville lab, looking for the ominous hound. Light is flooding the room and blinds him, his eyes sensitive to the sudden unbearable white light. He races to the door and tries to swipe the key-card, causing it to beep in protest. _

_Denied. _

_Denied. _

_Denied. _

_He angrily searches for another way out. The machines blare on, the grinding and beeping feeling like needles against his eardrums. Suddenly, everything goes black…_

"Earth to Johnny boy!" Jim is emerging from a side-door as John comes to.

"What…?" John looks down at the object that had been emitting the strange white light and jumps back.

"Oh, what, Johnny boy? A little scared about a teeny tiny bomb?" Moriarty strolled further into the room, his hands clasped behind his back, Irene by his side. "You didn't seem so scared of it when it was dark. You were fascinated by it, actually."

Irene emits a soft laugh, her green eyes catching Sherlock's. "Ah, hello there, dear. I knew you'd be with this sad lot. You really think we weren't expecting you?"

"We knew you were expecting us, Moriarty." Sherlock growled.

"Then you must be more moronic than I usually thought. The 'great' Sherlock Holmes plunges into a strange environment, not observing the risks and the warning signs? Wow, Sherlock, Hun…Just wow." Irene smiles, an evil spark in her eyes.

Moriarty smirked, his eyes traveling to the woman behind John, beside Sherlock. "Nice to see you again, Miss Watson."

"I can't say the same," Joan sneered, closing the distance between her and John, placing a hand on his back.

"It's fake," John spoke, eying the bomb in front of him, "anyone with half a brain could see that."

Moriarty grinned, "Good, Johnny boy, _really_ good! I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out!" Jim pulled a switch from his pocket and aimed it at the device. "See?" He clicked the button and the, now dimmed, white light disappeared.

John smirked. "So, that's it then? No _master_ plan? No dastardly plot that could endanger the country?"

"Nope. Nothing like that." Jim smiled. He snapped his fingers, "Just this."

A team of masked men swarmed the room and restrained the few officers in the room (the rest were surrounding the building), shoving Sherlock aside and yanking Joan away from the crowd. They handed her over to Jim and Irene, Jim positioning a gun to her temple as soon as John protested.

"You see, the 'bomb' was just a distraction. We knew that you wouldn't have entered the room by yourself so we just had to have something to coax you in. Hence the white light." He gestured toward the tiny bulb on the rectangular device.

John advanced toward Jim, his sharp movement causing Jim to press the gun further into her temple.

"Ah, ah, ah, Johnny! Don't want to have her brains blown out, do you?" Moriarty clicked the gun off safety.

"No! Don't…please." He pleaded desperately, his voice strained. "Kill me…not her."

Irene scoffed, "You should've really listened to _your_ Sherlock. Sentiment can be _so_ dangerous."

John shook his head. "No, I don't care. Kill me, not her. Sentiment isn't dangerous, it's the best thing a person can have." He stepped toward them. "Let her go. Kill me instead."

Joan felt a tear roll down her cheek. "John-"

"No," He cut her off, "Joan, you have people to go back to. I don't. Please, let her go…"

Moriarty turned the gun away from Joan and pointed it at John, stepping forward so that the barrel was against his chest.

Joan stumbled to the side and into Sherlock's arms. He dragged her away and brought her beside Gregson. Gregson grasped her arm and Sherlock did the same to prevent her from jumping in front of the bullet.

Moriarty laughed suddenly, "Really, John, it's funny…"

"What is?" John growled, his teeth grinding and fists clenched.

"Sherlock jumped to save your life, but now…you're going to die anyway." Moriarty leaned in, "You know what that means, don't you?" Jim paused, letting John have time to think, "He jumped for nothing…"

John was about to punch him in the nose, hoping the blood would stain the damned Westwood suit Jim insisted on wearing every day, but a gunshot echoed through the air.

John looked down at his chest and frowned.

No wound…

He looked up, his eyes meeting fearful dark ones.

Moriarty was scared, but why?

John looked down at Jim's shirt, now covered in blood.

Moriarty lost his footing and Irene went down with another gunshot from behind John.

He turned and saw Joan pointing the gun at where Irene used to be standing, her eyes full of fury.

"Y-you shot J-Jim?" John stuttered, his shock causing him confusion.

"No." Joan spoke softly, lowering the gun. Her eyes were soft, their attention directed behind John.

He turned slowly, not knowing what to expect.

A tall man was poised, his long coat draping down his lean figure. The dark curls upon his head were matted down with sweat and were longer than usual. His galaxian eyes were resting upon John's face, irises full of sorrow and longing.

"John…" His smooth baritone voice broke the stunned silence.

John gaped at the figure, his breathing quickening and sweat beading on his forehead. "Sh-Sh-Sher…" John's knees buckled and he fell onto his shins, his gun dropping to the floor. His hands came up to his face and he pressed the palms against his eye sockets. "This isn't real…you aren't here…" John repeated to himself over and over, his palms pressing harder against his closed eyes. "It's not true…you're dead…"

"John, I _am_ here…" He perched beside John, a hand coming to rest on John's shoulder.

John jumped away from the touch, falling onto his bum. He pushed himself farther away from the figure. "No. You _aren't_ here! You died! You killed yourself! You jumped…you're…you're not alive…"

Sherlock sighed, "But I am, John. It's me. I'm back."

Joan approached John and helped him up. "John, he's really here…we all see him…" She spoke softly, clutching his arm to support him and keep him from falling again.

"No…" John croaked, tears streaking down his face.

"John, um, I know what I did was…devastating…but you must know, I would've never done it if it weren't for Moriarty threatening your life." Sherlock approached John as though he were a scared animal, "What I did was for you, your life was in danger…I would do anything if it ensured your safety. I couldn't lose you, John…" A tear dripped off his chin just as a sob escaped his throat. "John, I didn't want to leave you all alone…but I couldn't bear to live without you if you died…"

"So instead you killed yourself and made _me_ live without you?" John sobbed, releasing himself from Joan's hold, and advancing toward him. "Do you even _know_ what I went through?"

Sherlock nodded solemnly. "Mycroft had government security cameras and undercover agents following your every move. They reported your condition back to Mycroft and Mycroft reported back to me." John began to walk away, having heard enough, but Sherlock grabbed his shoulder. "John, please."

John shrugged his hand off and began to stride toward the exit, shouting over his shoulder, "If you really cared, Sherlock, you would've revealed yourself to being alive _years_ ago!"

"I couldn't tell you, John! Don't you get that? If I revealed my secret, you would've been put in more danger! Moriarty had snipers on you, John, _snipers_!" He stressed. "They were watching you just like I was. Except, they were watching to see if anything had gone amiss; if they had missed an important clue. If I would've told you, they would've seen your change in attitude and known that I had survived that day! They would've killed you, John…and that I would not allow."

John had stopped to listen, his back still to the detective. "What did you do?"

"The only thing I could. I killed off Moriarty's empire, one by one." Sherlock explained. "The only thing that kept me going was the fact that, once this task was done and over with, I'd be able to go home to you, but when I got there, you were gone."

John turned and sighed, "Yeah, well…" John ran a hand through his hair, averting his gaze.

"I tracked you down and found that you'd gone off to New York for holiday. I followed you to that gravesite, John…"

John snapped his head back to the detective, "You were _there_?"

"I was planning to reveal that I was alive there, but…" Sherlock looked over at Joan and gave a small smile, "you were otherwise engaged…"

John cleared his throat. "Did you follow me everywhere, Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded, tears forming again. "I saw how happy you were with her, John…and I just couldn't stand the thought of invading on your relationship…" He gave a soft laugh, "I've done it too many times before."

John laughed softly, "Yes, yes you have." John sighed, "But, Sherlock, you should've told me…"

"I know…" Sherlock nodded, "I should've. I know that what I did was scarring, but is there any hope for forgiveness?"

John sighed, "Sherlock-"

"Please, John, do whatever you need to release your anger. Punch me, kick me, break my nose…I'm prepared for all three. Cuss me out, wish to never see me again, but please just forgive me, John. You can do anything you want to do to me as long as you forgive me." His voice cracked, assuring that what he said was sincere.

John clenched his fists, tempted.

Sherlock closed his eyes and waited, prepared for anything –well everything except for John's arms snaking around his shoulders. Sherlock cracked open an eyelid and found John's head below his chin.

"I've missed you, Sherlock." He mumbled against the detective's chest.

Sherlock shook his surprise and embraced John, his arms pulling John closer. He nestled his head in John's sandy blonde hair and closed his eyes, enjoying being in John's arms.

"I've missed you too, John."

_**A/N: Thanks for all the people who have stuck with me this far! One chapter to go -well, actually its an epilogue...but it'll still be important to the story. If you haven't followed me as an author and don't get new story alerts, I would like to take this moment to tell you that I did just post a Sherlock fic! It's called Old Habits Die Hard and has BAMF!John. ;D (if you don't know what BAMF means...it means bad-a** motherf*cker.) **_

_**One chapter till sad announcement...**_

_**So yeah, FAVORITE/FOLLOW/REVIEW! AND BE SURE TO FOLLOW/FAVORITE ME AS AN AUTHOR TO CATCH EACH STORY!**_


	8. Chapter 8- Epilogue

_**Warning: Fluffy angst ahead...**_

"So, what you're saying is," Captain Gregson paused, glancing from one Watson to the other and from one Sherlock to the other, "you two are Watson's…and you two are Sherlock Holmes'…?"

John nodded, "Yes. I lied to you previously, saying my name was John Waterford."

Gregson nodded once. "And you _both_ are a pair of consulting detectives?" He continued, staring at the two pairs.

"Obviously," both Sherlock's replied simultaneously, rolling their eyes.

Joan sighed, "Captain, we are just as confused as you are, but the best thing to do is just…go along with it," she smiled weakly.

The Captain nodded slowly, "Well, I'm just going to pretend that the only Sherlock and Watson I know are you two," he pointed to Joan and Sherlock, "and that you two," he pointed to John and Sherlock, "are just a figment of my imagination…" He massaged his temples, trying to erase the mind-shocking fact that there were _two_ Sherlock's, not one, and walked away.

"I have to admit, it is strange." Sherlock stared at Joan, deducing her down to the last detail. "Doctor?"

Joan nodded, "Well, _ex_-doctor…"

Sherlock nodded, going back to his intense observation. His gaze traveled over to his doppelganger, "Hm."

"Hm?" Sherlock eyed the other Sherlock.

John's Sherlock smiled at his double, "Seeing as you are an exact copy of me intelligence-wise, I have no complaints about your work."

John chuckled, "That's a first."

Joan laughed, linking her fingers in his.

Once the soft laughter had died down, the two pairs of consulting detectives were engulfed in silence.

Joan looked over at John and frowned, "So…what now?"

"We go home," John's Sherlock rested a hand on John's shoulder hesitantly –he still didn't know if John was ready for him to touch him.

"_Home_, as in _London_?" Joan asked, sadness creeping up on her. "But…"

John squeezed her hand and turned to Sherlock, "Sherlock, I don't know…"

His Sherlock seemed startled, "John, you can't just _stay_ here. We have a flat back home…what about Lestrade and the work? What about our life, John?"

"Sherlock, you've been gone for three years. The work is gone, Lestrade is not going to want help from a 'corrupt' detective, and our life is never going to be normal again, Sherlock. You left me…you don't expect me to trust you again, do you?"

"I-" Sherlock trailed off, "No. No I don't."

John sighed, "Sherlock, I would love to return with you and begin where we left off, but I moved on…we all did."

Sherlock felt a sharp pain shoot through his heart –concluding that he did in fact have one, "As much as I want to disagree with you, I can't. I know what you say is true, but I can't help feeling that there is a chance, a _slight_ one, but a _chance_ that life could go back to normal. Me, you, Lestrade, solving cases…just like old times…But…I can see you're happy now, and that makes me happy, too," he tried a smile, but the sadness still showed through.

Joan felt as though she had heard quite enough, "No. John, you are going with him. Back to London."

John and both Sherlock's stared at her incredulously.

"I can sense that you want to return to London, John. Let's face it, your life is there. Your family, friends, and work," John took both his hands in hers and squared his body toward hers, "John, as much as it pains me to encourage you to leave, you must. Your life is there and I will not be the one holding you back."

"But you're not holding me back, Joan…" John felt his eyes well up with tears.

Joan choked back a sob, "John, I love you with all my heart, but I can't let you stay here when your heart belongs with Sherlock in London. Please go back with him. London needs you," Joan looked over and his Sherlock and smiled, "Sherlock needs you."

John looked over at his Sherlock and laughed, "I do have to make sure he eats and sleeps…"

Joan let out a sad laugh, "See? He needs you, John."

John ducked his head to try and get a hold on his feelings, but he failed. "But, what about you?"

"I'll miss you, but he needs you more than I do…sadly. Besides, I have my own Sherlock to take care of," Joan let out another soft laugh.

After a long moment, John nodded. He looked up in her eyes and felt another tear streak down his cheek. "I'll miss you, Joan."

Joan sighed sadly, "Oh, I'll miss you, too." Joan snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug.

John wrapped his arms around her back and tucked his face into her neck, copying her movement. "I love you."

Joan hugged him tighter, "I love you, too."

After a minute, Sherlock put a hand on John's shoulder, signaling that it was time to leave. "John, we need to go."

John released Joan, but still held her hands. "I'll call you whenever I get the chance, yeah?"

"Okay," Joan wiped a tear from her cheek.

John smiled, trying to lighten the mood with the love within the smile. He gave her hands one last squeeze and pulled away.

Joan's Sherlock hailed a cab for John and his Sherlock, blowing the whistle he kept for this exact purpose.

A cab rolled up and John's Sherlock told him the address of the airport. He opened the door and looked back at John expectantly, "Come along, John."

John began to walk away, shooting once last glance back at Joan. He smiled and turned, walking towards the awaiting cab.

"John, wait!" Joan ran up to him, "I need to do something that I should've done a long time ago." Joan took a hold of his shirt and pulled his lips to hers. She let his shirt go as he snaked his arms around her waist, bringing her hands up to his face to cup his cheeks. One hand strayed and tangled itself in his sandy blonde hair, deepening the kiss and trying to show all her love through the connection.

Joan pulled away, not because she wanted to, but because she needed air, and caressed her thumb over his cheekbone. "Don't forget me, alright?"

John took hold of her hand and gave her a soft kiss on the lips, "Wouldn't dream of it."

_**A/N: THATS IT! THANKS FOR READING! I REALLY LIKE THE IDEA OF JOHN/JOAN SO I MAY VISIT THIS IDEA SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE. **_

_**I'D LIKE TO THANK: JoanLock, marshmallowdeviant, SherlockFan, Elementary Fan, LucyMiller, Angelical Love, Dina C, Monirosez, KandiKisses19, Sweetmaj010, red2013, DoctorLia, AvatarPhoenix, Judy Clements, writerfan2013, Johnlock, Damariz, orangeness18, Mary, Judy, Nicholas Winter, Mandy, and all the unidentified guests for reviewing! Thanks for everyone who favorited and followed this fic!**_

_**I'd also like to thank: (CROSSOVER): Thanks for reviewing AtTheBrownstone, Nataly SkyPot, The Inked Pen, KuroHi91, Lysi Nothuna, AmandaSingh0, AvatarPhoenix, donnabella2k7, Hermes' Little Girl, wholockonbakerst, CoolNinjaOfDoom, krikanalo, and laura! It meant a lot! :D**_

_**SAD ANNOUNCEMENT: I will not be writing for Elementary for a long time...Probably a month or a little longer. I have been receiving soooo many prompts for Sherlock, so if that's what you like, look for me there! I'm sorry, Elementary Fans! I just want to wait awhile until Season 2 comes out so I can have more ideas 'cause I'm kinda stuck! Sooooooo maybe if I finish all my Sherlock fic's, I'll get a second wind! Maybe, just maybe! Please don't hate me! I will continue to write for Elementary because it is, no doubt, my favorite show! **_

_**ON A LIGHTER NOTE: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME~! :D I AM NOW 17 YEARS OLD AS OF AUGUST 22nd! :D**_

_**Thanks again everyone! Thanks!**_


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